


Tired

by NSquared



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NSquared/pseuds/NSquared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is no last minute call from Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes continues on to eastern Europe only to survive and comes back a changed man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> Plot by ratherbethedragon from tumblr :] Feedback would be helpful!
> 
> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the BBC Sherlock world, which was created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.
> 
> The story I tell here about Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, Lestrade, Mary Watson and Molly Hooper is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of BBC's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

**** Like that one Christmas in 221B surrounded by people he loved and loved him except there was nothing to celebrate this time. This time it was to say goodbye.

His friends, his family.

He would miss Lestrade and he didn't know of whether to scoff at the thought or cry. He would miss Mrs. Hudson and her tea and biscuits he would miss her so much. And then there was John. Oh, John. He would miss seeing John become a father, he would miss Mary and their beautiful child. He was sure the child would be beautiful with parents like his friends, Sherlock would have adored that child.

He would miss everyone and he was frustrated at the realization that he would miss so much of them.

He was surrounded by his loved ones, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, John and Mary. They had drinks and food and the room was too cheerful for him.

They all looked too happy as he played his violin.

"Hello, everyone." her voice echoed in his head and he turned swiftly from the window just as he finished.

Molly Hooper.

There was no role of the eyes or a sarcastic biting remark from him this time there was only warmth in Sherlock Holmes' eyes.

Molly Hooper with her horribly knitted Christmas jumper and her tightly tied wine hair with no signs of lipstick, Molly Hooper and her bright clothing, Molly Hooper and that pained smile on her face.

"Welcome, Molly."

He had stolen her gaze once again like he always did before and she felt her chest sink. He had told her before he had invited her that he would be gone and that he would most likely never come back and she was struck with how stupid she felt when even after all he did to her, to her and his loved ones she would be broken to see him go.

She would be broken.

So she ignored that he said she was welcome and he was finally letting her in and smiled that painful smile.

The night dragged on with cheerful smiles, bad jokes, wine, food and subtly said farewells.

It was all like a mirror of what they did when he fell but what happened then allowed her to catch him. This time, this time there would be no one catching Sherlock Holmes. Not even Molly Hooper.

This lie was bigger and would hurt more, and because he had chosen to let her in and tell her all his secrets she would be the one to watch them all break through the years once they slowly realize, Sherlock Holmes is never coming back.

No, once he gets on that plane he would never be back. Never again.

Mary hugged Sherlock one more time with gratitude sparkling in her eyes before Sherlock closed the door behind his best friend and his best friends wife.

They were alone. 

He had stood in front of the door not turning to the woman in the jumper with her empty wine glass sitting on his chair. After a silence full of thoughts of how he would go about saying goodbye one last time to the woman that ran in his mind, Sherlock turned around and she looked up at him.

She spoke first, and she didn't want to say goodbye.

"No farewell, just... just see you later."

"At the morgue?" 

"Yes, at the morgue."

She didn't know if he had deduced how much it wrecked her to think about seeing him on the slab again. Not a lookalike this time, but the real one. She would probably pass it on to another pathologist if Mycroft Holmes would allow her, because could Molly Hooper really work and dissect a dead Sherlock Holmes?

On her slab?

No. It would be like dissecting her own heart.

Impossible and painful.

So it was quiet and there was nothing else to do, they should have said goodbye but hadn't. Neither of them had ever felt like this before. So he took her hand and pulled her close to him and they danced. There was no music but they swayed anyway.

He held her and she held him back. All of him. She held all of him, the back of his neck, his head, his mind, his back, his hands and the one most tightly held... his heart.

And as the hours go by nearer to his departure and her presence is very well known and acknowledged Sherlock thought about it.

He could probably get away if he wanted especially with her help. Molly Hooper would surely do anything for him.

"I'm never coming back." a shot to her chest.

"You've said that, you don't need to repeat it."

"I know you know that but... Molly Hooper if you say you want me to stay I'll change my mind." a surge of emotion ran so fast through her whole body she jerked forward.

They hadn't stopped swaying and their foreheads pressed against one another.

"We finally have our chance. I'm letting you in after so much wasted time and you're no longer engaged. God, Molly we could do it. You know how I feel about you now, and I know how you feel about me. Molly if you say... if you just say you want me to stay I'll change my mind."

She caressed him, his neck his face "It's not your decision to stay Sherlock. I'm not killing you again. You're not killing me again."

"Just for the night." he begged.

She left.


	2. Arrival

In all the days, weeks and years Sherlock Holmes has spent living on this planet he had never felt the way he had felt the day his base had been discovered and grenades ran down around him and he couldn’t give a breaths worth of care. Walking-more like sauntering-out of his base he had taken the discarded guns of his diseased men and women and pulled the triggers. Sherlock had never felt more terrified of himself than the moment when he had given up on all hope and had accepted his brother’s words.

He was going to die today.

Except the way that the helicopter was unattended and not in any way damaged while its previous passengers were lying dead on the ground somehow gave him a breath of life.

He was going to go against it because what were the chances that the people waiting for the passengers he’d just gruesomely shot down knew _exactly_ what he looked like and was to kill him on sight?

His hair had grown longer and he’d thought back to the days when he was dismantling a criminal organization and how the things he’d done and the things that had happened to him couldn’t have prepared him for surviving through this… but… suddenly he was attached to a group of people that were-like him-sentenced to death and he recounted their characteristics as he walked over their dead bodies.

One of them, his name was Gunther had hair as pale as his skin and he vaguely remembered the time he had slapped Sherlock and they had gotten into a brawl, a brawl within the group of people he was supposed to live through this whole mess but alas they had been broken apart by the other two men whose names were Frederick and Jafar.

Frederick was originally born in the US but in a second Sherlock had deduced him and found that he had been raised in Botswana, the man was a pain while Jafar had been born and raised in Germany and he was-to Sherlock-a relief. There were five of them Sherlock, Frederick, Jafar, Gunther and then there was Ishka.

Ishka who had painted her nails black, Ishka who had worn nothing but black from the moment she was shoved out of a helicopter and fell ten feet right above the fabric covered trench Sherlock and Jafar had currently been hiding in to the moment she’d been shot dead and dropped right in front of Sherlock’s feet, Ishka the woman with the wine-red hair with the pointed nose and the thin lips with the sharp and not-so-fragile voice.

Ishka the dead woman lying before his feet, bloodied face and hands still clutching her pocket knife.

Ishka, the woman Sherlock was thankful wasn’t Molly Hooper.

A glance at the helicopter behind him and another at the dead mousy-looking woman lying in front of him made him take a deep breath.

“I’m coming home, Molly.”

 

***

 

Mycroft Holmes has been in mourning for the last six months until today. His lovely secretary had uncharacteristically slammed his door open disrupting his useless staring at the papers that were to determine the future of the country and had put her hand on her hip as she counted to calm her breaths and let the little piece of paper fall flat on his desk.

At the same moment that he had finished reading and was staring up at the woman the phone on his desk rang and it rang three more times before she picked it up for him, answered it and put it in speaker and proceeded to walk out of his office, closing the doors.

“Mycroft.” The voice was ragged and tired.

“Mycroft? Oh for goodness’ sakes-”

“Sherlock? Is that you?” there was static before the voice confirmed “Yes.” And Mycroft Holmes closed both his eyes.

“Welcome back, brother. Shall I arrange a chauffeur to pick you up? Wherever you are.”

The doors to his office opened most dramatically and there he saw his brother, ragged, miserable and tired.

Sherlock stood there staring at him then said “Take me to Molly Hooper.” And Mycroft’s heart fell.

 

***

 

_She stood staring down at the body lying on the cold metal table._

_“Unfortunate. Incredibly unfortunate, your death.” She made to look at the rest of the body but sighed instead as she made to wash the cut torso, the body had been severed from the pelvis into half and not at all-she could imagine-in a gentle way._

_It was only an hour away until her shift ended and by then she would have completely finished washing the body for examination the next day but she wouldn’t be the one examining the body the next day, had the curly haired detective been the one to take on the case maybe she would have been ‘tricked’ into examining it but not today, not tomorrow and as Molly made her way towards the exit of the hospital she breathed heavily and she once again reminded herself, not for a while._

_“Unless he survives_ that _too.”_

_“Which would be highly unlikely.”  Molly’s body jerked forward and the hands that were clenched into fists buried into the pockets of her jacket whipped out a knife and a pepper spray bottle._

_“Mycroft.” Her gasp seemed to signal the wind that had blown her tied hair into her face to stop to accommodate the presence of Mycroft Holmes._

_“I received your… message.” Mycroft Holmes stood holding his trusty umbrella and an opened letter he’d dug up from his coat pocket. Molly breathed as she nodded once and put her knife and spray back into her pockets, she made no movement towards him._

_“Any reason why you hadn’t told your…assistant to pick me up instead?” the back of the hospital was quiet and there was no sign of people or cars._

_It felt like an old Wild West film and two cowboys about to pull guns out and shoot one another._

_“I prefer to…_ personally _engage with people like you.”_

_Molly’s brow rose “By saying ‘people like you’ did you mean past acquaintances of your brother or-”_

_“No, Molly. You and Sherlock were… friends._ We _are acquaintances. I know I can trust you, correct?” Molly drew in a deep breath, she could feel the tears pooling._

_“And I can trust you.” She confirmed._

_“Yes, yes you can.” He assured._

_Molly Hooper thought back throughout all of the things that had happened, why she really wanted this thing that she was about to ask from the_ brother _of the man that left her in pieces._

_“You know what I want and-” a sob had interrupted her and Mycroft had tilted his head as his heart ached, why had he not noticed exactly how much this woman felt for his brother when he was still present he did not know._

_Mycroft breathed in deep and tried to see._

_He’d known of course about the Christmas scene, about the intimacy they had shared through Sherlock’s refusal about getting a different pathologist and insisting in asking Molly Hooper a favor instead, he had thought it was absurd until he had realized-even through Sherlock’s denial-that it was all about sentiment._

_Giving him that would-Mycroft thought at the time-be fair as he wouldn’t be seeing her for a fair amount of time._

_Molly however apparently had a different set of mind, he’d expected her to be overly sentimental and roll his eyes over the tears that she would shed as he entered her flat, Mycroft had  even had her plane arranged to accommodate the large amount things she was sure to bring with her, but he found himself speechless and looking around her untouched  accommodation._

_“Are you not-”_

_“Bringing anything? No, it’ll just slow me down.” Molly walked out of her bedroom, clothes comfortable and tote bag on her arm, she struggled to put her airplane tickets into the bag and when she finally succeeded she looked at Mycroft; standing in the middle of her living room._

_“What?”_

_“You’re leaving your books?”_

_“I can buy books where I’m going.”_

_“You won’t tell me.”_

_“I’ll send you an e-mail and you can track me down.” Molly looked exasperated, itchy to get out of her home and that was when he saw it, glittering in her eyes he saw the tears, the longer he made her stay the more she hurt, and so Mycroft nodded, three taps on the floor, left food, right foot, umbrella and they were out of the flat._

_He watched her lock it, pocketed the key._

_“I wouldn’t normally be this… curious, miss-” her laugh cut him off and he’d almost stopped stepping down the stairs, he’d paused._

_“You can call me Molly.” She sent him a small smile, tears gone and as he gazed upon her face, he thought maybe this was why she was worth Sherlock’s trouble. Unlike any other indeed._

_“You’re leaving everything behind, left no letters to your family, why? You asked me to take you off the grid.”_

_“I asked you to take me way off the grid.”_

_“That you did.” The question hung._

_“You’re asking this because you’ve never felt something like this before, Mr. Holmes.”_

_“Ah, but if I’m going to call you-” but Molly stopped him completely from finishing the last flight of stairs as she turned and looked up at him, emotionless._

_“I’ve never told anyone about this, no.” she fiddled with her fingers “Not even my best friend.” She’s about to tell him something she only shared with Sherlock, something Sherlock never shared to him and so he listened. Leaned on one leg as he prepared to listen to her tale._

_“I… was going to say that I didn’t know why I was telling you this but now I do… I do. This is going to be my closure.” She looked up to see if he understood. He did, by the way he nodded and he looked hard and gazed at her hard, not without feeling. He looked at her with feeling._

_So she told him, she told him all of it. She told his brother about how he’d completely ignored her emotional state the night her engagement had been broken off and proposed, with a little too much enthusiasm to start their relationship. It would have been inappropriate, she’d schooled him into getting used into saying he shouldn’t be happy, rejoicing even that someone’s engagement had been broken, he had been frustrated, irritated and very slightly maybe heart broken._

_“That explains the he way acted towards you during… “_

_“The drug use, yes.”_

_“The both of you are… complicated.” Molly laughed and shrugged “Do you suppose I should have left it all with ‘it’s complicated?’”_

_Mycroft laughed, and then he led her to the end of Molly Hooper and the beginning of Melody Cooper._

_***_

“Why, brother. What about John Watson? You’re best friend,” uncharacteristically Mycroft stood up a grin on his face, a fake one, Sherlock wrote it off with his exhaustion before he followed his brother who had wrapped his arm around his shoulders as they walked towards the door “He’s missed you dearly, brother.”

 

 

 

One thing that John Watson has noticed ever since his best friend came back was he was gentler, he spent more time being… sentimental he cared and _showed_ it. He was kinder to people and showed and expressed that he’d actually missed them, he helped assist with Mary, he asked them questions and there were no insults. It was bizarre and John believed he appreciated it.

That was the word; Sherlock appreciated things around him, a lot more, he was more grateful, thankful, he might not still say it as much but he did, and to Greg.

 

It did not take time for the suspicion to set in after one day of resting and now, Sherlock sat on his chair, the people around him all had smiles on their faces, and yet, he hasn’t heard one word from Molly Hooper.

He’d asked his brother, and he’d asked Mrs. Hudson, they had been evasive and he didn’t like it, not one bit.

Now he would ask his friend, his best friend; John Watson, he had a smile a genuine one as he took the doctor away from his wife and to a corner of his flat in privacy.

“What is it, Sherlock?” John asked, a smile on his face, but when he saw Sherlock’s false grin his teeth were hidden by a worried frown.

“First of all, I’d like to thank you for arranging this… gathering in my behalf.”

“No problem, mate!” John wrapped his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him close to his face as he snickered “I love my wife but a pregnant Mary” he hissed and then laughed “What’s going on then, Sherlock.”

“I was wondering if you-Where’s Molly?” Sherlock had hesitated but he couldn’t help but ask frankly, outright, where was she?

“Oh,Molly. Molly Hooper.  Molly, yeah.” He shuffled “You know, I thought Mycroft would have told you-”

Hearts began to beat fast.

“Where is she?”

“Well,” John couldn’t look at him straight in the eye and shrugged, he didn’t know why he was acting the way he was “she… I haven’t heard from her, for months. The last word was from Greg, he said he talked to Mike and she… well she quit.”

Sherlock’s shoulders began to droop “I don’t know where she went, I-”

“She’s gone?” it was an airy tone, the way he asked John, and it spooked John.

“Are you alright, Sherlock?” he was leaning back, away. At John’s question the room turned to them and at the way Sherlock’s body moved the room silenced. Suddenly he was panting, Mrs. Hudson was assisting him towards the couch where Mary sat, John made sure to be there with them and Mycroft appeared in the doorway, stole the spotlight.

He looked worried, noted DI Lestrade, he tilted his head, put down his drink and walked towards the elder brother “Got any idea what’s going on.” He was frowning, looking worried at Sherlock and then Sherlock was looking at him and then at the man he stood next to and then there was thunder.

 

 

 

It took shorter than expected, a day until he figured it out, a week for him to start getting obvious in moving around the files, a week since the welcome back party, Sherlock knew what he had been up to and he doesn’t look like he’s looking for any reason at all, so Mycroft visited, finding it odd that Sherlock would be going around and checking out files without asking him exactly why.

Why did you take her away?

“Sherlock-” he was sitting on his desk, on his computer, busy.

“Brother dear, I’ve beat you before, I’ll beat you again.” A cold glance and he stood up, Mycroft knew that he was going on a trip and his actions confirmed Mycroft’s suspicions.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?”

“Tell me where Molly is.” Sherlock shrugged.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Then I’ll see you in a few months-maybe weeks-I’d love it if I’d be home here with her in a few days, but I won’t be too confident, brother.” Sherlock grabbed the small suitcase by the door “Don’t want to jinx it.” and didn’t look back as he trotted down the stairs, said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson before he was on his way to the airport.


	3. Denial

It would have been impossible not to have recognized her the moment he laid eyes on her. Her face, her whole being was branded into his mind.

A sigh left his lips as he prepared himself to approach her.

He’d found her in France, living in an adorable flat, being adorable while having an occupancy in the department of Pathology. He’d laughed quietly to himself when he’d found himself thinking so, he’d never been so comfortable with feeling the way he was feeling that day. He had let himself embrace the foreign feelings that swelled his heart.

“Nice to meet you-again-Melody Cooper.” He was smiling in the way his serous face looked to have been ripped forcibly with utter happiness as he gazed at her-finally-up close “I’ve-”

“I’m sorry.” she sounded gingerly “Do I know you?” she had stared at him for a few seconds and he’d deduced that as Molly trying to process the fact that she had been trying to process the fact that he was back _again_ but the look in her eyes, the look in her eyes told him something else.

She was jerky in movement and foreign in his eyes “I’m sorry-I this is sort of hard to talk about with random people” she laughed nervously “but just in case we weren’t close enough when the accident happened and you didn’t hear about it, I got in a car accident and I have amnesia.” She shrugged as if it was just one big joke.

But it was as he smiled and laughed politely at her ignorant eyes. She didn’t know him, he didn’t know her. And it was like being shot all over again, he felt he did indeed need morphine, but no.

Whether she be Molly Hooper or Melody Cooper he could only see Ishka’s dead body and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity to love her no matter what with regrets from the past.

“Well, then” he breathed and sighed as he offered his hand to Melody Cooper “let me introduce myself as Sherlock Holmes to you, Melody.”

Reluctantly, very reluctantly she laughed and shook his hand and she felt within her chest cavity a tug.

“Have we known each other before?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Let’s just say” he said while he pulled out a small notepad “’To new beginnings’” and he gave her the paper with his number, a warm smile, and his back as he walked away.

He walked away like he did before, with an offer hanging in the air and a bruised heart, the scenario that had happened subsequently could have very nearly broken him again but now was not the time to quit.

_I owe you a future, Melody Cooper._

 

***

 

_Dear Mycroft_

_~~I saw him today~~ _

_~~I was going to~~ _

_~~He finally had the guts to show hi~~ _

_I’m tired._

  1. _~~H.~~ C._



Mycroft’s smile wiped off his face, he had planned to be entertained by Miss _Coopers_ expected request for him to move her to another country or chuckle to him about the complaints and details about how she’d scolded him but the lack of messages from his men about Sherlock and now her letter brought him a depressing day ahead.

He would not meddle but he would be there for her as much as he could, he knew he had to especially because of the separate message coming directly from his brother.

 

_Tedious, brother; you’re getting rusty._

_S.H._

_P.S._

_The answer to your question was Molly Hooper but now I’m afraid it’s changed to Melody Cooper._

He nodded to himself as he’d thought about all the little holes Sherlock could have squeezed through, he’d had the newspapers published, he’d had papers burned and recopied and a staged car crashed. He’d had Melody Cooper _born_ he would be a fool if he’d let himself get caught by his little brother, as for the P.S. he couldn’t help but think would it be the best for Miss Cooper if his brother kept pursuing her while she was _tired_?

“Mycroft.” He turned, saw her, smiled “Stop meddling into the children’s business.” She gestured “Come here.” And she smiled as he went.

 

***

 

They just kept bumping into one another and she would have smiled and laughed and gushed at his charm had she not been busy with the mangled bodies and her very much mangled heart.

First time was at the coffee shop on the other side of town from her flat on a weekend, second time was when she was assisting on an experiment on a body and had to act clueless and surprised that he was there, third time was when he was helping the family above her move in and the fourth time was in the grocery store, across the street.

“Sherlock,” the fifth time he was in front of her door, a smile on his face. “what are you doing here?”

An exasperated Melody faced him “I thought you might want some company this weekend” one stunning smile and a breath taken away “I brought lunch.”

There was no way he hadn’t figured it out yet. There was no way he hadn’t contacted Mycroft and had given him hell.

There was no way he didn’t know she was lying.

It was only in rare occurrences that Molly Hooper’s strong steady voice faltered “Sherlock, Why are you really here?”

He had been so pleasant and she had almost let herself believe that he had fallen for her lie, because it was not very hard not to recognize the man that stood in front of her now. She did not recognize the man, the good man that he had become. After all this courting, what was the catch?

Was it all just another game for him to play?

Which one will fall first?

Oh, but she won’t lose this one. No.

“Molly.” He shook his head, he hid a smile, he acted normal, he didn’t hide that he was hiding emotions “I meant Melody, I know you don’t remember me, but I can see it in your eyes.” And as he said these words he let the lunch bag lay on the floor as he took her hand “You still love me.”

She was going to break down but he continued, he continued to pour out his love for Melody Cooper.

He spoke about a future together in change for the opportunities in the past that he’d neglected. He spoke of how he adored her, how he admired her, how she was so small and yet so big. So big. So full of love, love for him. Love he’d learned to let himself crave. He spoke about how he’d missed her, how his world literally crumbled around him when he realize he couldn’t see his best friend anymore, his brother, his parents his _friends._ Because he _had_ had friends, he only refused to acknowledge them.

“But mostly, Melody, I miss Molly Hooper.” He sounded so earnest, looked so intently into her tear brimmed eyes with his emotion filled ones.

They weren’t cold, they weren’t remarking how many flaws she had, they were loving.

Because Sherlock Holmes is not a sociopath.

“I love _you_ , Molly Hooper.” He knew he did things like these, he was cold after all, he would be a jerk to her, mostly to her than other people, but in a different way, in a way only they understood, like an inside joke.

Was it an inside joke now that he looked ready to cry, ready to-

“I will do _anything,_ I will shower in gravel I will give you _me_ ,” he took in a large breath of air, of her with their closeness “Molly Hooper, remember me.”

 

***

 

_She rolled her eyes, of course he would act so impossibly arrogant around people, he was nothing but a bag full of shows._

_“Do you really expect me to answer that?” she laughed as she gestured for him to turn the bone saw off as she handed it to him._

_“Oh, look at that. Fascinating Tibia.” He looked nonchalantly at the sawed in half leg before he jerked and turned to her remembering he’d asked her a question ‘Do you think I’m unforgettable.’ “Of course, I expect you to give me a straight answer. Gerald only laughs when I ask him.”_

_Her sharp laugh was something he didn’t expect and he turned and watched her take her safety goggles off as well as the gloves and throw them away, she was shaking her head._

_In the morgue, he had asked to assist her in a fascinating case of an autopsy of a yet to be determined bone disease._

_“Well, if you really are serious.” He marveled at how much of an anomaly it was that he found her beauty so perfectly accentuated by the light of the morgue and the white of the fabric of her lab coat, adding a personal touch with how colorful her clothes were under her coat, she looked perfectly at home in the crisp clean room, cutting up cadavers. “I personally think you would be a hard person to forget, Sherlock Holmes.”_

_He rolled his eyes he knew she knew that wasn’t what he mea-_

_“Don’t turn away from me when I’m talking to you!” she wasn’t done yet and he acted haughty, hiding the embarrassment that she would have the courage to yell at him “I wasn’t done yet._

_I think that you are a great man, Sherlock Holmes. I believe it. Your talent, your skill was certainly hard owned and you don’t forget people like that, but most importantly,” she smiled cheekily at him, he pretended he didn’t enjoy it “you are a man with a gift. You are a legend. A man like no other, I swear to you that I know and believe that there will never be a man like you on this world again. You are unforgettable.”_

_He stared hard at her with passionate eyes, before he stopped himself from getting lost and acting like a primal animal he looked back down at the sawed in half Tibia “I must say, Molly. You are good with your hands.”_

_“Still wasn’t done.”_

_He looked back, allowing her a peek at his cheeky side “And with your mouth.” With which she rolled her eyes at and walked away._

_He was chuckling to himself when he heard her whisper, maybe to him, maybe to herself, but what was important was he heard her, listened, and let his heart swell._

_“I won’t ever forget you, Sherlock Holmes.”_

_***_

_Don’t you remember?_

She could feel the sobs in her throat; they were getting ready to come out.

_Don’t you remember when you said you wouldn’t forget?_

The look in his eyes, searching, believing she’d forgotten him.

_Silly man._

Her mouth stretched as she silently cried as he stared at her, looked for her.

_I won’t ever forget you._

He’d let his hands cup her face, searching, looking, not letting go. But would he find what he was looking for? Or was she too far gone?

_Remember me._

It was like a silent command, in his hopeful eyes, for her to start bawling, crying, sobbing, the pain she’d kept inside, the pain from the months, from the years and the pain from the very beginning.

He clutched her tight to him, stood up straight, her feet dangling, she wouldn’t let go again.

“You remembered.” A light laugh, like he was announcing his unwrapped Christmas present, he’d gotten the one he specifically asked for.

“I never forgot.” A sob, a release “I never forgot.” _Guilt._

“Shhh.” A swelling heart and arms clutching tight what- _whom_ they loved the most “It’s okay.” _Comfort._

“I am so” she drew back looked into his eyes, swimming in tears “ _sorry.”_

Pulled her again, almost too roughly “Never do that again, never forget me again.” _Forgiveness._

“Never again.” A promise.

“Never _want_ to do that again.” A plea.

“Don’t make me want to forget you again.” A laugh.


	4. Epilogue

He had done it, brought everything back the way it was and at the same time changed the course of things. Like that night, almost identical so many nights ago, another get together with all of his friends. This time, they were complete, this time there were no goodbyes, this time he was complete.

This time Molly Hooper was here and Sherlock Holmes wasn’t saying goodbye.

There had been forced shocked expressions when Sherlock Holmes took Molly Hooper back, back home, with him.

They knew it was coming anyway and one exclamation from Greg sparked a full blown party, drinks in his hands, Sherlock Holmes makes his way through his home and cluster of friends and towards her. A smile on his face he kisses her cheek and hands her the drink he fetched.

She gave him a gentle smile back, this was heaven.

And he’s never going to let her go and he’s never going to let this place get away from him and he’s never going back down from the clouds.

 “Hello, Molly Hooper.”

And there would never be a farewell for Molly Hooper, for they were never going to stop loving one another.

Nothing and everything has changed.


End file.
